


What are the Odds (1 in 1.2 Million)

by Renegon_Paragade



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Airplane Crashes, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wilderness Survival, based on the first episode of lost but not the rest of it, descriptions of injuries, please do not use this as advice, questionable medical advice, questionable survival advice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renegon_Paragade/pseuds/Renegon_Paragade
Summary: Neil Josten just wants to keep running. With his father's men getting closer, he catches a flight to anywhere else, any place where he can remain hidden and maybe live another day. Of course, staying anonymous is difficult when he happens to share that flight with someone from his past and his infamous new team...Oh, and also the plane crashing in the middle of nowhere. That makes running quite difficult





	What are the Odds (1 in 1.2 Million)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about planes, or if this crash is realistic. I know a bit about survival, but I'm not in any way a professional and you should definitely not rely on this to teach you what to do in an emergency. I am just a simple girl who decided to force the characters she loves to face their fears (Andrew and planes, Neil and being unable to escape, Kevin and no exy)
> 
> Also, the research I’ve done for this fic has probably gotten me put on an FBI watch list, so I hope this is worth it
> 
> Thank you to Gigi aka Thatonetreetho for betaing this (I think. It's been almost a year so I'm not positive, but you usually do so I'm just going to assume you did)

Neil wakes up disoriented and alone.

He’s used to one of those. Neil is always alone, even before he was Neil. He’s been on his own for almost a year now, ever since his mother died. He remembers burning her body on a beach, can practically smell the smoke and sea breeze...

Smoke. Fire. 

_Crash._

Neil jolts upright, pushing through the nausea to stand unsteadily on his feet. His ears ring and his vision sways, but the adrenaline keeps him standing. He’s in a field, although the long grass turns to sand a few yards away from him. All around he can see debris; suitcases broken open on the rocks, clothes and belongings and _people_ strewn about as if the aftermath of a particularly angry child. 

The ringing persists. Neil tries to clear his head by shaking it, but only manages to make himself dizzy enough to start retching. He bends over and empties his stomach, what little meal he had however long ago burning on its way back up. 

He feels slightly more stable once that’s over with. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and straightens up, finally taking in the area around him.

It looks like Hell.

The beach is on fire. Or, rather, the beach is covered with the burning carcass of a plane. From the looks of it, only the middle third of the plane is on land, with the tail end caught on some rocks off shore. The water between them is the beautiful rainbow of an oil slick, a sharp contrast to the horror of the beach. Neil’s eyes follows a line of gouged earth from the plane to a nearby forest. The nose is presumably somewhere in the treeline, based off the smoke rising in that direction.

People move around the carnage. Some - those more alert - seem to be trying to get the injured and shocked away from the plane. Others stumble around, dazed and unbelieving of the reality they find themselves in. Still others are running and screaming, calling out for God to save them or to find missing loved ones.

Some aren’t moving at all, and probably won’t ever again. Some aren’t even whole, limbs torn off in the crash.

Neil wishes he could throw up again.

He stumbles back, away from the crash. He needs to go. He needs to run. He doesn’t know how long he has before rescue workers show up and he can’t be here, can’t have the police question him or risk being taken to a hospital. The crash offers the perfect chance to fake his death, if he runs now. If his father’s people figure out that he was on the plane, they’ll assume he died and burned, just like his mom. He could be free-

He trips over something and falls back onto the ground. 

The something groans.

Neil, dazed from his second impact of the day, looks over to see a prone man looking up in confusion.

“Ow,” he says, unnecessarily.

Neil scrambles to get off of him. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” Internally, he curses his luck. There’s no chance he could disappear now that someone has seen him.

The man groans again and closes his eyes. “Wha hapn?”

Neil looked back towards the wreckage. “The plane crashed.”

“Fuuuuuuck”

Neil agreed.

He looked back down at the man, inspecting him closer. He recognized him from the plane. He was sitting one row in front of Neil, on the other side of the aisle, and had mostly slept through the journey until they hit some really bad turbulence. Neil remembered flashes of the man helping someone put on an air mask, but couldn’t recall much else at the moment.

The man started to sit up before freezing and letting out a pained gasp. Neil looked down to see that his thigh was bleeding through his jeans. 

Neil is instantly in motion, kneeling down to push the man back into a prone position. “Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.” 

The man nods, tears slipping down his face. “It hurts.”

Neil frowns. “Of course it does, you’re injured. Give me a sec.”

Neil looks around and rushes to the nearest suitcases. He pulls out anything he can find that might help. Easy to tear clothes, towels, sewing kits. He lucks out and finds an unopened bottle of vodka in the fourth bag, by some miracle not shattered. He grabs a belt as well before rushing back to the man.

“I have to take off your pants.” Neil says, tearing one of the shirts into strips.

“Woah, you’ll have to buy me dinner first,” the man tries to joke, but a hiss of pain cuts off any attempt at a laugh.

Neil grabs the belt and holds it up. “Bite this. It will help with the pain.”

The man does as told, his comment of “kinky” going ignored.

Neil undoes the man’s belt and yanks the pants down as far as he can get them, ignoring the muffled scream of pain. The fabric rips the clotting out of the wound, which starts to bleed again. Neil grabs the sewing kit, pulling out a needle and threading it. He opens the vodka and douses his hands and the wound before dipping the needle in. He pulls it out and drops the thread in, before pulling that out and turning back to the man, who was now sobbing. Neil blocked out the noise and began to stitch up the wound, getting lost in the rhythm of his work until he was suddenly done. He put the needle and leftover thread on the towel and grabbed some fabric strips. He folds one strip and places it over the wound and wraps the leg with another, tying it tightly enough to put pressure on the cut but not enough to cut off circulation.

“Do you have any other injuries?” Neil asked, looking up at his face.

The man, passed out, does not respond

Neil sighed and quickly checked as much of his body as he could, not seeing any obvious injuries besides a few scrapes. Figuring that the man was as good as he could get for now, Neil grabbed the supplies he had gathered and headed towards the area where survivors had started to group together to watch the plane burn.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr as Renegon-Paragade


End file.
